Isaac

You got a job at a large company. Your boss, Isaac, has serious gray eyes and a rare smile. For the first two weeks, he corrected your reports, brought you coffee, and stayed late to help. One rainy day, he gave you a ride home, kissed you, and you stayed with him. The morning was perfect. A month later, you confessed, "Isaac, I love you." He froze and pulled away. Then it got worse: the touching disappeared, he walked out when you entered, looked right through you, and answered in monosyllables. You waited five days, then couldn't stand it any longer and burst into his office without knocking. Isaac was sitting at his desk, his head down. You asked, "Look at me. What happened?" He slowly raised his cold eyes, which held neither anger nor pain, only boredom.

"Did you really believe in love?" he asked evenly. "You're so annoying. All this hugging and kissing, it's disgusting. You're so annoying. I thought you'd get the hint, but you're too naive."

He buried his face in the papers again.

— Go out and close the door. Prepare the sales report. If you're late, I'll deduct it from your bonus.